


time may change me / but I can't trace time

by paulmcgann



Category: Criminal Minds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcgann/pseuds/paulmcgann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>shared grief, post-maeve. very short.<br/>hope it's semi-decent x</p>
            </blockquote>





	time may change me / but I can't trace time

Hotch’s mouth moves. He whispers. Reid can barely hear him, but he doesn’t care. Words flit over his ears, slip by him. “We’ve been called in to investigate.” Hotch slides papers towards him. Spencer fumbles with them, forcing them into his line of sight. His gaze jerks as he tries to process the words in front of him, frantically trying to comprehend the information, the frustration of this just not _working_ the way it should sliding over his bones, scratching at his skin from within. He knows this used to be easier, and he tries not to hate himself for it. His head flicks up, eyes seeking Hotch’s, meaning to make some menial inquiry about the case, to at least feign an understanding, a competency. He can’t form the question, and instead the one he’s quietly desperate to hear an answer to slips out unintentionally, unfiltered. “Will it get better?”

He doesn’t need to explain. And in the same way that Hotch understands, Reid instantly comprehends as the other man takes his hand. “No,” Hotch replies, his thumb drawing straight lines on the back of Reid’s hand, up and down, up and down, up and down, “no.” Their clumsy eyes meet.

“It gets easier. It changes. But no. It doesn’t get better.”

Reid’s chest feels as though it’s seconds away from caving in, and with the same intensity, as though there’s something about to burst from it.

Hotch swallows, takes his hand from Reid’s. “We’ve got to go.”

Their eye contact breaks, Reid loses his lifeline.

The other man stands, back to Reid, and walks to the door. He hesitates, fingertips on the handle, then turns back towards Reid, extending his hand.

“It changes,” he repeats, he promises. His fingertips are soft against Reid's wrist as he pulls him to his feet. A reassuring thumb draws a now-familiar pattern over the back of Reid's hand as the two walk out of the office, fingers firmly intertwined.


End file.
